


like water and whine glasses

by sweetbloom



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Poetry, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, not super graphic tho dw, sorta - Freeform, talks about self harm urges/suicide and romanticizes it, this is kinda (very) sad lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27588238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbloom/pseuds/sweetbloom
Summary: “Part of me feels disappointed I can’t feel it anymore. Part of me is relieved. Feels like I’ve finally done something right. Finally been able to pull through on a promise I’ve made. (Although I’m never quite sure who the promise is to).I’ve done all I can to hurt myself in this way.I’ve finished.I did good.”





	like water and whine glasses

**Author's Note:**

> poem i wrote when i woke up from a dream i was having. mostly from the perspective of the me from a few years ago. i was about 14/15 years old then.
> 
> please forgive any errors (or just my bad writing in general). i don’t write very often and i was a bit tired when i typed this on my phone a few days ago. enjoy i guess?? lol idk

She leans down a bit to set the water bottle on the stained linoleum floor a foot or two away, scooting it closer, carefully, cautiously, as if she’s scared of something. Most would be afraid of my fragility at that moment, treat me like crystal wine glasses or mismatching porcelain tea cups from the thrift store. But i’ve learned over time that the thing she’s so scared of is me, despite the fact that the only bad i’ve done to her is try to defend myself. Finally fight back. All the pain she’s caused, will continue to cause, doesn’t exist in her world. She says i’m the one who did all of this. Caused all of this to happen. Caused her to behave the way she does. Caused her to break her hand on the door frame behind me when i managed to doge her hit. 

I think the water means a lot more to her then it does to me. Like it’s some sort of sad attempt to say “see? I care. I’m a good mother.” but then in contradiction to what she's trying to convince me of (or, most likely, herself), she turns around and leaves. Leaves me to sit there on the floor of our kitchen, curled up as tight as I can, feeling like my chest is caving in on itself. Leaves me to continue rocking back and forth, stuck in a loop of muttering the same words over and over again, “I don’t wanna do this anymore, I don’t wanna do this anymore, I don’t wanna do this anymore, I’m so tired, I don’t wanna do this anymore”. Leaves me to continue banging my head against the kitchen cabinet to my left, hard as my instinct of self-preservation would allow me. When it feels like my chest is going to explode, I exhale to the point that it hurts, until my lungs burn, desperate to rid myself of the weight on my chest. 

My skin itches when I stop hitting my head against the wood, old and such an awful color. I always wish we could have painted over them. Cover up the darkness that seemed to surround us in every room.

When I hurt myself it feels like an anchor.  
My only tether to reality.  
The only thing keeping me from floating away, higher and higher and higher, until I reach closer to the sun, feel like my whole body’s gone up in flames.  
Until I am like Icarus, except the cause isn’t rebellion gone wrong, or ignorance of the worlds realities. It’s my body, my brain, trying to self-destruct. I don’t think we are really meant to handle this sort of pain. 

Pain of not even being enough for the person that brought you into this world to love you.  
The one who is supposed to love you more then anyone else ever could.  
Protect you, care for you, nourish you.  
Empathize with your scars and skinned knees.  
Broken hearts and teary eyes.  
Fears of the future, anger at the world.  
Your hurt.  
Your pain.

Having backed myself into the corner in between two of the cabinets, my head starts to feel a bit numb from hitting the surface over and over again. Part of me feels disappointed I can’t feel it anymore.  
Part of me is relieved.  
Feels like I’ve finally done something right.  
Finally been able to pull through on a promise I’ve made, although I’m never quite sure who the promise is to. 

I’ve done all I can to hurt myself in this way. 

I’ve finished. 

I did good.

I try and find a new task for myself, something to ground me. Something I know, in the end, i probably deserve for being the cause of darkness in so many people’s lives. ”it's not your fault”, but I'm still responsible. And for my sake, I need to atone for all the things I've done. All the pain I've caused, both consciously, and subconsciously.  
I am responsible.  
I own it,  
I understand it, 

I accept it.

I always managed to figure something out. Find another task, another way to repent. It was as comforting as it was harmful, but I never really had any problems with that.

**Author's Note:**

> constructive criticism welcome, comments always encouraged


End file.
